Making the Album

Barry and Tom were dealing the cards. Blondie watched lazily from the couch. Poker chips scattered across the table, ashtray full. It was the perfect atmosphere for any sort of gambling.

If the rest of the group would tear themselves away from the soap opera that was Billie and Tony.

"Will the two of you stop leering? Give them some fucking privacy." Barry ordered. Tre flipped him off.
"We are not missing this." Jay said firmly.
"What d'you think he's playing her?" Tre asked.

The tone of his voice reminded Tom of his mother's friends, the catty, shallow, overweight women who'd come round every afternoon to gossip over coffee. Tom shook his head. He didn't want to think about home. Not now. Not when everything was going so well. Just a few more weeks, and he'd free. Free of everything. His parents wouldn't be able to threaten him, wouldn't have any sort of hold over him...

"I'll bet it's something by Zeppelin. Tony loves Zeppelin." Robert said knowledgably.
"Naw. It's gotta be something more romantic than Zeppelin." Mike argued.
"Mariah Carey?" Tre suggested.

Dead silence.

"So, Def Leppard perhaps?" Jay continued as though Tre hadn't spoken.
"How the hell d'you figure Def Leppard romantic?" Mike asked, incredulous.
"They've done some nice ballads." Jay replied defensively.
"I bet he tells her he loves her." Robert looked a little sad when he said that. He swallowed hard. Jay made a soft, sympathetic noise in his throat.

"No way." Mike shook his head. "Billie takes his time with that shit."
"But after everything... I mean, it's obvious." Jay studied Billie.
"Doesn't matter. Took him AGES to tell Adrienne."
"Urgh. Don't remind me." Tre rubbed his temples. "The headaches that caused..."
"He should tell her though." Robert said stubbornly.
"Yeah. Sometimes you just need to hear yourself say it." Jay's voice had an undercurrent of something, but no one was really paying attention.
"Naw. He'll just say he said it with music." Tre rolled his eyes.
"Girls like to hear it."
"Doesn't matter."
"Look at him go! Now that's some spiffy guitar work, that right there." Tre pointed.

The others snorted.

"So it's definitely not Def Leppard, then. They don't have that many songs you can do on an acoustic." Robert assessed, watching Billie's fingering.
"Eh. The electric's right there." Jay pointed out.
"That's all bloody though."
"Doesn't matter." Mike's brow furrowed.
"Maybe it's something by Aerosmith? They've got some stuff that sounds nice on acoustic."

Barry sighed and put down the cards.

"Shall I get you ladies some coffee?" He asked them sarcastically.
"I like black. No milk, no sugar." Mike replied, oblivious. Tom laughed quietly.

There was a quiet knock on the door. The secretary poked her head into the room.

"Tom? You've got a visitor."
"Really? Who?" Tom asked, interested.

She pushed open the door. A middle-aged man stood there in a pair of sharply pressed khakis and a polo shirt. His hair was neatly combed and he was smiling. He looked almost exactly like Tom, if the laugh lines on Tom's cheeks disappeared, and he lost his lip piercing, and the tattoos on his neck, and cut his hair.

"Well, boy, don't you have a 'hello' for your father?"

***

Tom's face had gone stiff, and he hadn't moved. It was almost as though he was trying to wish the man away. But then he blinked and stood up. When he moved, it was as though he had aged a thousand years.

"Hello, dad." He said stiffly.

Barry frowned. Tom's voice had never sounded so... formal. So stilted. Tom, whatever else he may be, was not one to hide emotion. He showed it, and showed it well. But now, now Tom's voice was closed off. He was attempting to hide SOMETHING. But Barry wasn't quite sure what.

"So formal, Thomas. Surely you can do better?" The man boomed. Tom didn't smile.
"How did you get here?"
"Your mother read an article in the New York Times. You're becoming quite the star, aren't you?" Somehow, he managed to make the statement almost insulting. Tom just stared, a small, wooden smile on his lips.

Tre nudged Mike.

"TWO fucking soap operas. I feel like I'm living inside a fucking television."

"And you've gotten more tattoos... well, those can be removed."
"And why would I want to remove them?"
"Well, I've gotten you a real job. Now, it's hasty, I know. But you've had your chance and you've gotten all this 'rock and roll' business out of your system. Now it's time to come home."
"We're recording an album, dad."
"But it's not finished yet, is it?"

This man's tone was so condescending; Robert nearly punched him in the face. Blondie rose up off the couch, eyes flashing, but Barry put a hand on his shoulder. It was almost as though the producer was saying, 'let him handle this'.

"It will be."
"But you've run out of time."

Tom just smiled that tiny, stiff smile.

"You haven't met the band."
"I don't want to... meet the band."
"I'm not coming home with you."
"You're indebted to us. You aren't legal yet—"

And Barry, with a wink to Blondie, leapt into the conversation with a feral smile.

"Sir, Tom signed a contract with this label. He is obligated to put out at least five records before there is any talk of him going anywhere."
"He isn't of age to be signing anything." Tom's father replied, with an air of superiority.
"Actually, sir, Tom is quite able to sign almost anything. Eighteen is the legally recognized age for these things, and Tom's birth certificates shows his age at nineteen."

For a moment, Tom's father looked caught. Then he smiled smugly.

"But I'm his father. You can't tell me what to do with my son."

Barry smiled dangerously and stepped very close to the man. Jay coughed quietly. Barry waved a hand, receiving the message loud and clear. Instead of putting his fist into that smug face, he just imparted a single threat.

"You try to take him away from this album, I'll sue the hell out of your sorry ass."

Tre giggled. Mike poked him in the ribs as Robert stamped on his foot. The drummer collapsed to the floor, something between a laugh and a snort coming from his lips.

"Now get out of my studio." Barry finished, and opened the door.

Tom's father glared at Barry. Then he looked over at his son. Tom was still standing, frozen, beside the table.

"This isn't over, Thomas. You're time here is over. Now you've got to grow up and come back to reality." Barry slammed the door behind him.

And in the recording booth, Billie was kissing Tony.